Valde Celer's Men
by Herodotus
Summary: Valde Celer's Men is a short story about a small group of revolutionaries in the tightly controlled province of Ereptor.
1. Night Meeting

Valde Celer's Men  
  
Shadows danced on the walls of the poorly lit room, a flickering flame perched upon a candle on the round, central table. A dozen shadowy figures stood, shrouded by black cloaks and blacker darkness, speaking quietly. Outside the door of the small, stone hut, a slender man leaned, peering into the night.  
  
"Our next order of business - the imminent rebellion. Does anyone have any news?" asked a scarred man, quietly.  
  
"I have a way to enter the capital undetected, Malecai." offered one figure. Stepping forward, splashes of candlelight betrayed his features as he spoke. Bangs of jet-black hair protruded from the hood of his cloak, reaching down towards his richly tanned face. "I know a man, a merchant... he's well trusted by the city guards, and they rarely search his goods. Over the course of several days, we could smuggle our agents into Ereptor," he explained, the scar along his left cheek quivering as he spoke.  
  
"It's settled, then," Malecai responded, nodding to the face as it moved back into the shadows. Scanning the small room despite the lack of visibility, he nodded once more to himself before talking again. "It's growing rather late, so we'll adjourn shortly. However, I have one final issue to address, for our next meeting - who will stand guard while we finalize our plans?"  
  
Silence enveloped the room, as invisible tension clung to the air. Each man knew that standing as sentry was a position of honor, one only earned through trust. However, the planning at the next meeting would be extremely vital, and they all had concerns or suggestions. Malecai looked around the room, his eyes seemingly penetrating the darkness.  
  
"I will," stated Sirius boldly, stepping into the meager candlelight once more. Hidden by flickering shadows, mild amusement danced in his eyes and a slight grin twisting the edges of his lips.  
  
"Acceptable," Malecai stated, nodding. "I trust there are no objections?" he asked, more out of formality than actual desire to hear dissent. Pausing, he looked towards a man near the door. "Devan, get Celwik and inform him of our plans," Malecai commanded. "I believe the Guardian is near its zenith, so I declare the Crimson Claw adjourned for another eleven days. May you all be cunning and swift."  
  
Upon hearing this, a man standing beside the door turned and opened it, stepping outside. Glancing at the silvery sphere as it hung high in the sky, Devan nodded towards the middle-aged man standing bravely against the night. Moving towards Celwik, Devan spoke quickly and quietly, the events of the meeting spilling out of his mouth. As the two men stood in the deep night, 11 cloaked figures trickled out of the hut, quickly evaporating away to their sundry dwellings. 


	2. Betrayal

Vibrant shades of orange and pink permeated the evening sky as the sun slipped below the horizon. Glancing around at his surroundings, a man stood in the shade beside a small stone cottage. Oblivious to the beautiful sunset, he sighed impatiently, running his hand through his unruly black hair before dropping his arms to his side.  
  
"What have you to report?" asked a cloaked man. Appearing from around the corner of the dwelling, his face was hidden by his hood's heavy shadows.  
  
Looking up sharply, Sirius dropped to his knees and stated, "I have news, sir."  
  
"Speak, then," the man replied, after nodding briefly.  
  
"The Crimson Claw met last night. They trusted in my words. At the next meeting, in ten days, I will be the sentry," Sirius reported, still kneeling.  
  
"Excellent," responded the man. Chuckling, he added, "The rebels will earn what they deserve. My men will be at the appointed place, in ten days. If any... problems... should happen to arise, you know where to reach me." Turning, the man strolled briskly around the corner, quickly disappearing from view. Sirius paused meditatively for a moment, then stood. Slowly, pensively, he walked away through the fading daylight, a cruel grin upon his lips.  
  
~~~  
  
"I hereby call this meeting of the Order of the Crimson Claw to order," intoned Malecai, lighting the candle on the central table. "Criton, have you found any information regarding the defenses of the city?" he asked, stepping backwards into the shadows.  
  
"Yes, Malecai. I've managed to procure rather complete plans of Ereptor," stated Criton proudly, drawing several scrolls from beneath his cloak.  
  
"This is going exceedingly well... perhaps a little too well, for my liking. Devan, do any of your informants know if there's Occultus Mucro activity in this region?" Malecai asked, fear coloring his words and his face.  
  
"None that I know of, Malecai. Allay your suspicions, there's nothing wrong with being fortunate," replied a tall, thin man.  
  
"Suspicion is all that keeps us alive here. Last time I had a run-in with the Valde's secret police force, I barely escaped with my life. We were disturbingly fortunate then as well," responded Malecai gruffly, tracing a long scar on his cheek with his finger as he spoke.  
  
"Malecai, with all due respect, we have nothing to fear, because..." began Devan. Upon hearing a loud explosion directly above the hut, however, he froze mid-sentence. The dozen figures dashed for the door, daggers drawn, as the roof collapsed.  
  
"Traitors," growled Malecai as he nimbly dodged pieces of debris and dove out the door. Around the hut stood eight black-clad figures, long silver daggers embroidered on their cloaks. Not far from the door stood Sirius, smiling grimly. Behind him, a middle-aged man with a short black beard chuckled. Sighting Sirius, Malecai leapt at his throat, dagger drawn.  
  
"Vish maresis naraka!" shouted the bearded man, pointing at Malecai. A clap of thunder sounded deafeningly as an arc of white energy jumped from the man's outstretched finger, swiftly striking Malecai. The remaining eleven Crimson Claw members attempted to engage the Occultus Mucro agents, desperately fighting for survival.  
  
"No infiltrators, eh?" Sirius asked Devan, chuckling mirthlessly. Circling around the pile of ash that was formerly Malecai, the two repeatedly lunged, dodged, and withdrew, lost in a complicated dance.  
  
Around them, the eight agents quickly moved against the rebels. In moments, half of the rebels were down, knife pommels protruding from their chests. The five remaining Crimson Claw members charged with long, curved daggers, slashing viciously at the Occultus Mucro assassins. Three fallen, the five remaining agents drew poisoned daggers, feigning and striking. Soon, each of the remaining rebels was on the ground, his blood tainted by poison.  
  
Still, Devan and Sirius remained locked in combat. Glancing at the two, the five Occultus Mucro agents circled the combatants, closing slowly. Silently, the bearded man raised his hand, signaling for them to stop. They froze in place, daggers in hand.  
  
Spattered with dirt and blood, Devan and Sirius continued circling each other, striking and retreating, feigning and sidestepping. Chanting quietly, the bearded man pointed at Sirius, and Sirius's speed doubled. Moving as a blur, he lunged, driving his dagger deep into Devan's chest. Firmly grasping the dagger's handle, Sirius placed his other hand on the dying man's chest and drew the dagger from its living sheath. Slumping to the ground, Devan uttered a final gasp, his eyes rolling back in his head, before fading into death.  
  
"You have served well. Kneel, Sirius," commanded the bearded man. Smiling with pride and confidence despite his numerous wounds, Sirius knelt.  
  
"Muert!" shouted the bearded man, placing his hand on Sirius's head. Gasping, Sirius clutched his own chest, confusion in his eyes. As he keeled over, the bearded man turned towards the agents. "Take care of this... mess. You know what to do," said the bearded man disgustedly. Sighing, he muttered under his breath, "Sirius may have been contaminated by ideas of treachery, but he was valuable..." Snapping his fingers, the bearded man flickered for a moment, then disappeared.  
  
Calmly, the Occultus Mucro agents drew flint, steel, and flasks of oil, and quickly completed their task. Striking the metals together, one of the agents set sparks to the oil-dowsed bodies. As he watched them burn, the stench of burnt flesh filling his nostrils, a thought crossed his mind... "When will the people learn that the Valde tolerates not rebels?"  
  
-El Fin- 


End file.
